When the Prioress finished her story, everyone was in a pretty serious and
somber mood. It was actually quite interesting to see everyone so quiet. But
pretty soon the Host was back to telling his jokes, until he suddenly turned to
me and said, “Everything okay? You’re staring so much at the ground—you look
like you’re studying it intently!

Approche neer, and loke up merily.

10Now war yow, sirs, and lat this man have place;

He in the waast is shape as wel as I;

This were a popet in an arm tenbrace

For any womman, smal and fair of face.

He semeth elvish by his contenaunce,

For unto no wight dooth he daliaunce.

“Come on now, chin up! Be happy! Make room, everyone, for this guy here. He
and I are of about the same build—any woman would love to hold him in her arms.
There’s something funny about this guy—he only speaks when he absolutely has
to.

Sey now somwhat, sin other folk han sayd;

Tel us a tale of mirthe, and that anoon;’—

‘Hoste,’ quod I, ‘ne beth nat yvel apayd,

For other tale certes can I noon,

20But of a ryme I lerned longe agoon.’

‘Ye, that is good,’ quod he; ‘now shul we here

Som deyntee thing, me thinketh by his chere.’

“Come on, speak up now, and tell us a story like the others have. And make it
a happy story too. Let’s hear it!” “You’ll have to forgive me,” I answered him.
“I’m pretty bad at telling stories. I really only know this short one I once
learned long ago.” “Yeah, yeah, that’s fine,” the Host replied, “But get on with
it. I can tell this is going to be good just by the look on your face!”